


What The Eyes Cannot Unsee

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 08:56:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20721563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: They say 'seeing is believing'.  The thing is, once you've 'seen', you can't go back to before.  It was sometimes called a paradigm shift, sometimes multistable perception, and there were even intriguing illustrations making the rounds - pictures where you looked and saw a vase, perhaps, but someone else saw a woman's face.  And once the alternate was pointed out to you, it was almost impossible to go back to your prior impression without also seeing the new.  Enlightening, perhaps, but somewhat disconcerting.  At least Major Kevin Richards found it so.  Surely reality shouldn't just shift itself around like that!  And it was bad enough when you found the phenomena in some foolish book - when it happened in real life, it could alter everything you thought you knew and understood.  Pour yourself a drink, suspend your disbelief, and listen to the tale.





	What The Eyes Cannot Unsee

Just as Craig Garrison's cons were trying to deal with their young, in some ways rather unworldly, lieutenant, gradually flicking away the scales that covered his eyes, so the O'Donnell family was trying to enlighten Major Kevin Richards. They had been trying for a very long time now, in fact, ever since their first meeting, knowing if he was to eventually fulfill his allotted destiny, he would HAVE to wake up and start seeing things as they really were. 

None of the participants in those efforts were finding it a particularly easy task.

In both cases it was a time-consuming process, considering the self-inflicted, willful blindness both Craig Garrison and Kevin Richards insisted on clinging to. Perhaps it was their upbringing, perhaps their military training, who knows.

As a way of dealing with the world they knew, with reality as they saw it, perhaps such had its place, especially for such methodical, stubborn people. But the two men weren't only dealing with the world as they knew it, not anymore. They had stepped over the border into a new world, one unfamiliar to them, and sooner or later they were going to have to open their eyes and take a good look around. 

Garrison's cons, with an able assist from Meghada and her siblings, handled it one way; the O'Donnell family, parents and children alike, handled the project of Kevin Richards in rather a different way. 

If Craig Garrison and Kevin Richards had ever sat down and really discussed the matter honestly, they would have admitted feeling a great deal of comraderie with, not just each other, but also with each of several characters from popular literature. Dorothy, picked up by a cyclone and deposited in Oz. John Carter, awakening on Mars. Alice, down through a rabbit hole and lost in Wonderland. Lemuel Gulliver, bound for some decidedly odd encounters with peoples and lands hitherto unknown. Yes, all would have hit a nerve.

Still, reading about such was all well and good; waking up and finding yourself LIVING such an adventure? Well, that was possibly another story. Just ask Kevin Richards. That is, if you ever caught him with a few too many drinks, and not enough sleep, and just careless enough to tell you the truth. Odds were against that, of course, as careful as the man was, but there was always the possibility. 

If you could somehow have convinced Major Kevin Richards to confide in you, (unlikely, of course, but IF), he probably would have snorted in amused disgust at his younger self before beginning the tale of his enlightenment. Oh, he would have poured himself a stiff drink, as well as one for you. Probably left the bottle on the table also.

And the story would perhaps have gone something like this. 

"Open your eyes" she kept telling me; well, I did, eventually. That's the problem!" he would have admitted ruefully. 

"Remember that line from the Wizard of Oz? 'Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!' My sweet Aunt Fanny! How about wolves and dragons and the most UNSUITABLE erotic escapades!!! That was far more the case. The trouble is, some things, once you see them, you simply cannot UNSEE them, you know??!" 

***   
"Open Your Eyes, Kevin!" -

It was odd, for someone like Kevin Richards, just how comfortable he was here in the home of Lupan and Felane O'Donnell. For someone so upright, even stern, feet firmly on the ground, firmly entrenched in the 'proprieties' instilled by his social background and military training, it wouldn't have been expected, after all. Ravowen was certainly nothing like what he was accustomed to. 

Still, from the first time he'd awakened in that bed, surrounded by the O'Donnell children all staring at him, wondering at this newest 'pet' their mother had brought home with her, he'd felt at ease here. Well, as at ease as you could be after being shot as a result of being overly confident and hideously stupid, then rescued by a young woman you'd never seen before, and then hijacked and dragged halfway around the world.

He healed enough to leave, return to his duty, (though the explanation to his superiors was somewhat awkward), but somehow found himself returning, time and time again, each time receiving a fond welcome. He didn't understand it himself, didn't have any idea of how to explain it, but he'd find himself at the gate, and each time he had that comfortable/uncomfortable feeling of coming home.

For in some ways, the O'Donnell home HAD came to feel like a second home to him, the first being his uncles' home at Kilmeade Manor. He didn't count his London flat, or his parents' estate, as such. 

The former, the latest in a succession of similar flats, was a necessary place to have, convenient and reasonably well-appointed for his comfort, a place to sleep and have his meals and store his meager possessions, but not a 'home'; that term, at least to his mind, implied some level of permanence, stability and a degree of warmth. 

And as for the latter, the estate where he had been born, he hadn't been there for several years, leaving it (and the ill-flavored memories it held) first to his parents' haphazard care, then after his father's death and with his mother's frequent and extended absences on one of her interminable expeditions or research projects, to the caretakers. What involvement was required of him, he managed via the post and the solicitors.

Well, it had never really been a 'home', when you came to think on it, not to him, not to his sister, Julie. He had departed for school at age eight and, other than holidays and some other stretched-out occurrences, never really returned, and he had arranged for his sister to leave at a very early age as well. Although a young man of nineteen wasn't perhaps the best one to raise a child, SOMEONE had to do it. His parents clearly weren't interested in accepting the responsibility, and he refused to stand idly by knowing Julie was being neglected.

And just as the O'Donnell home became almost as a second home to him, THEY, Felane and Lupan and their children, became almost like family. If it was sometimes a little disconcerting to be mothered by someone so close to your own age as Felane was, he comforted himself by deciding it wasn't 'mothering' so much as it was 'big sister-ing'. It was all in how you looked at it, what label you attached, he had decided.

Labels were important to Kevin Richards, nay, even essential; in his world of neatly defined parameters, they helped define not just a person, a place, what he could expect, but also what his own actions, his own attitude should be in relationship to that person, that place. (Sigh) Probably had a lot to do with his rigid, remote and very class-conscious father and his equally rigid and remote mother, a dedicated archaeologist and scientist. 

But labels he did require, especially for the females whom he encountered. There were appropriate slots into which they were to be placed - mothers, sisters, more distant female relatives, business (ie military) co-workers and subordinates, shop clerks and others who provided service, social acquaintances, and various others. Once he'd attached what he considered to be the proper label, to his mind it was a done thing, never to be altered. 

Yes, that DID occasionally create difficulties, but not enough to make him want to change his ways. The convenience simply outweighed the drawbacks, simplified his life, at least in his own view. Each had their place, each implied certain set requirements and responses from him. An unlabeled female was unacceptable to his peace of mind, since that left him uncertain as to what to expect, and therefore floundering as to how to respond. 

With Lupan he didn't have to be so definitive for some reason. Lupan was just 'Lupan', a combination perhaps of male friend and slightly older relation, one who was wryly accepting of Kevin's presence, never seeming annoyed at his wife foisting this stranger on him and the family. Well, according to Lupan, Kevin wasn't the first that Felane claimed she was 'guided' by some mystical power to rescue and 'adopt'. Total nonsense, of course, but what could you do? Arguing with them about it had done no good whatsoever.

Oh, Kevin had argued with them, certainly, all of them, through the years. They all had the most outlandish ideas, told the most incredible stories that surely had little basis in fact. Why, to hear them tell it, their family, their 'Clan' was somewhat older than time itself, their history filled with some of the most extraordinary characters with the most remarkable and impossible abilities! 

Sometimes, coming through that wide wooden gate that marked the entrance to Ravowen, he felt like he was entering a totally foreign land. 

Actually, though he would never have said it out loud, not wanting to be thought fanciful, which was something he particularly disdained coming from a grown man, sometimes he truly HAD felt like John Carter, awakening so unexpectedly on Mars and having to cope with people and situations no sane man should be expected to anticipate. Occasional thoughts of Gulliver also came to mind, as well as Dorothy and her visit to Oz, and Alice with her Wonderland adventures. He was very quick to dismiss such thoughts, especially the last two, as being totally ridiculous. Somehow he just couldn't quite picture himself in a smock or a pinafore!

But both Lupan and Felane, for all their odd ways, were easier for him to accept and deal with than the children. Well, he'd never had a great deal to do with children, other than his younger sister Julie or the other boys at school. But even if he had had such experience, surely THESE children would have still been a shock.

The children? All of them, from the oldest, Michael, then Caeide, and Patrick, Meghada, then Ian and Ciena - twins, and finally Coura and Douglas, another set of twins - they were unlike any children he'd ever seen or experienced.

They were such an odd combination of serious intent, wild daring, so entrenched in the fables and legends their parents told, and just as firmly discounting and disapproving of what they called his 'Outlander ways'. 

They ALL were, though Coura, youngest of the lot, more so than any of them. While the others perhaps bit their tongues on occasion, tried not to be so terribly direct, so obvious in their disapproval, SHE had no such qualms - indeed, seemed to have taken it upon herself to 'bring him up to the mark', so to speak. 

She seemed to have taken him on as her own personal project, seemed to feel that he needed, if not a keeper, (though she had expressed the opinion more than once that he certainly REQUIRED a keeper!), then certainly a guide through a life she felt he was only half living. Since he had been past thirty, and she was perhaps eight when she started in on him, it was more than a little disconcerting.

He still recalled her fervent lecture that April morning. It had been long, as many of hers were, and convoluted, and highly improbable, as usual. It had ended with -

"And I do feel sorry for you, I do, Kevin! There's so many wonderful things you'll never be able to experience; I understand that, and it's certainly not your fault you were born an Outlander. But there are lots of wonderful things you CAN experience, and you're just too stiff and prim and proper to TRY! That IS your own doing! Open your eyes, Kevin!! Look around you!! Do you SLEEP in that uniform? Do you never get the urge to just take it off and BE??! To run and swim and be free??! To howl at the moon and laugh in the spring sunshine for no reason whatsoever? To roll down a hill in the new grass, and dive into a pile of fresh snow or fall leaves?? To just be 'Kevin'??!"

He'd just shaken his head, trying to cope with that outpouring of emotion, til she'd turned away in frustration and went to pester someone else.

He'd later told her parents, in a deeply aggrieved voice, "and I don't even know what she's talking about half the time, I swear! I mean, why would I want to run through the night under what she calls the 'hunters' moon'? Not being able to see where you're going, stumbling around! Rolling around in the grass, and in the snow? It all sounds bloody uncomfortable and embarrassing, if you ask me! And what if someone saw me?! What would the neighbors think, I ask you that?!! And as for chasing a deer and bringing him down with one great leap - it's like she lives in some odd fantasy world! It just doesn't seem healthy! Reality might be less exciting perhaps, but it is the world she will have to deal with!"

Lupan and Felane had just laughed gently, smiled at him reassuringly, and told him, "oh, she knows reality from fantasy quite well, Kevin. Don't worry so. And she's right, you know, even if she's a little less than subtle about it. You COULD use a little loosening up."

He'd watched, nearly as frustrated with them as Coura had been with him, thinking they just didn't UNDERSTAND his well-intentioned concern.

Felane, obviously abandoning the subject, got up to get the broom from behind the door and swept out the scattered loose hairs and tufts of fur - red, brown, black, tawny gold - from the kitchen floor, brushing a few pieces even from the counters. He'd listened as she tsk'd tsk'd, "this time of year, I swear, all the shedding!", and Lupan just chuckled as he pulled a fleck of deep red fur from her blouse, and told her "you, too, it would seem, my love." 

The woman had glanced down and laughed. "It does seem so!"

Well, it DID match the color of her own long, luxurious red mane, Kevin had to admit, though very short and of a very different texture.

{"Why on earth she allows all the dogs in here to begin with, shedding all over the place, I'm not sure. Perhaps the library, but the kitchen?? Surely it's not sanitary!"}. 

Though, come to think on it, he'd rarely, if ever, seen the dogs in the kitchen; still, for all that fur, it must be a fairly common occurrence.

That amused look of shared understanding between Felane and Lupan, that was just one of the many things he didn't comprehend from that morning.

***  
Something About Those Eyes -

Kevin had arrived just as Lupan had a hunting pack ready to go out to refill the larder with game. At his host's invitation, he'd quickly changed into something more suitable for trampling the wilds and joined them, eager for fresh air after the stale smoke of London.

It was a good run, Lupan and Kevin both filling their game bags, additional game on thongs over their shoulders, the dogs gamboling about them, now acting silly and playful instead of the seriously intent manner they'd had before on the hunt. Lupan had indulgently just let them do as they wished, not calling them to heel, and Kevin had taken another close look at the four beasts, and finally asked the question he'd been considering since they'd set out.

"What breed are they, Lupan? I've not seen anything quite like them; they seem more like the wolves I've seen in pictures than domestic dogs. And their eyes are, well, almost human in their regard, you know. Though I suppose you think that oddly fanciful of me." 

Those dark eyes, all four sets of them, had met his at various occasions throughout the day, and at times had seemed far too knowing, sometimes scolding as he stepped on a twig or missed his shot, and on at least one occasion, when he'd slid off that high perch into the stream below, highly amused.

Lupan had given his usual calm smile, "well, I suppose you could say they're hybrids; the line DOES have a lot of wolf in it."

"Does it affect their temperament in a negative way? Do they get along well with the others dogs you breed? And Felane's horses?"

That smile broadened, and Lupan gave a hearty laugh. "Oh, their temperament is no worse than my own children's, for whatever THAT's worth, and they get along with the dogs and horses quite well." 

The quick yipping from the dogs, the broad lolling grins on their faces, seemed to point to their amusement as well. 

{"Almost as if they could understand our conversation!"} Richards thought, shaking his head at his own odd thoughts.

The four O'Donnell sons joined them in the library later, Felane and daughters all elsewhere, and the evening was passed with laughter and drinks and stories being told. 

Perhaps it was the drink that caused Kevin to be slow on the uptake when Michael, the oldest, laughed and said, "and today, when that covey flared up out of nowhere and you were so startled you skidded off that big rock into the stream, Kevin, that was priceless. I'll never forget the expression on your face as you hit the water!"

The others started in, teasing him as well.

"I wish Coura could have been there; she would have loved it!" Ian had laughed. "It was the possibly the first time you've done something without planning it all out ahead of time!"

Patrick shook his head, in mocking reproof of his brothers' words, "now, I think he should get points for landing on his back, not flat on his face. It wasn't all that certain, you know!"

And young Douglas? "Though I did like that stream of curses when you picked yourself back up again; there were one or two in there I hadn't heard before! Such DIGNIFIED curses as well!!"

Kevin had laughed and started to make excuses for his actions AND his language, til he stopped and his face turned blank with shock. It had been just him and Lupan; Michael and the other three brothers hadn't been with them. Just him and Lupan and the four hybrid wolfdogs. Just . . .

He raised disbelieving, questioning eyes to Lupan's dark ones, to get a glint of knowing amusement, then around at the equally knowing dark eyes of the O'Donnell brothers, (those eyes he'd seen earlier in the day, had seen and laughed off the odd familiarity they roused in him), and hurriedly took another drink, draining what was in his glass, holding it out for Lupan to refill it. {"Those eyes, yes, those eyes."}

{"John Carter it is, then,"} he dazedly told himself, remembering some of those exceedingly odd stories he'd been told and that he had previously discounted, obviously in error. 

{"This is going to take some getting used to!"}

***  
Looks Like That Are Just Too Damned Tempting

They'd been trampling over the fields and cliffs surrounding the house when Lupan had stepped aside to check a loose fence rail. 

"I won't be a couple of minutes. Don't wander off," he'd been told.

Kevin had stood, breathing the fresh air, smiling at the sense of peace and contentment that had taken over for his usual rather uptight persona since his arrival. Odd, with what he had come to know about the family, well, Lupan and his sons anyway, but somehow this was a place where he felt, well, RIGHT. 

A slight movement in the trees caught his attention, and he watched curiously as the movement gradually faded into a form. But what a form! Surely he was either hallucinating or the distance was playing tricks on his eyes.

{"He has to be huge, nearly seven foot!"}. Yes, the man was extremely tall, broad shouldered, narrow through the hips. That was easily seen, since he appeared to be clad only in a short kilt. Shaggy dark hair, face shadowed with perhaps the beginnings of a beard, dark piercing eyes visible and intent even at this distance.

As Kevin watched, squinting to make out more, the man met his gaze and very deliberately moved the kilt aside to free, then stroke his burgeoning erection. The Englishman inhaled deeply, shocked, but found himself unable to look away, his glance taking in the heavy-lidded eyes and sensuous smile as well as that slowly moving hand.

"Kevin? Kevin, stop staring. Turn your eyes back to me," came the calm order from Lupan, who had returned unnoticed. "If you keep staring, he's going to take it as an invitation, a sign you are interested. And I would guess you aren't?"

Startled, Richards looked at his companion. "Interested?" he asked, for a moment not understanding. Then he flushed deeply as understanding struck. "No, of course I'm not 'interested'!!!"

{"Intrigued, possibly, by such an open and blatant display, but not 'interested'! Oh, I have no issues with my uncles, or any with their inclination toward other men, but as Uncle Aubrey once said about his college years and the women he'd known back then, "I just never saw the appeal".}

Lupan gave a rueful smile. "I hadn't thought so. Even if you were, I'd have advised caution. Uncle Lucas stays in half-form for so much of the time, he is rather less civilized than even the rest of us."

{"Uncle Lucas? Half-form? What on earth is he . . ."}. 

Then Richards dared take another look, and this time, that far off figure having moved forward a few yards, he could see the form, the face more clearly, and his head and mind reeled at the sight. The cat-like muzzle instead of a high-bridged nose, the large slanted eyes, the ears far larger than they should be and sharply pointed on top. The other details he'd missed. Oh, and that long tail tipped with a small tuft of hair; yes, he'd certainly missed that, and the presence of a great deal of fur in various places, and the legs not shaped quite as you would have expected. That rampant erection, that was much the same, though, if anything even more impressive by now. 

He swallowed deeply, totally at a loss for words, and looked at Lupan helplessly, desperately hoping for an explanation that his mind could process.

"Come along, Kevin. I think you need a drink, and we need to have a long overdue conversation. Perhaps I'll introduce you to Uncle Lucas when he is in less of a, well, 'playful' mood. He's really quite personable, you know, for one of the Panthera, even if he is a little obvious sometimes about expressing his interest. And he never forces the issue, of course; is quite good humored about being turned down. At least, if you do it promptly, before things get serious, while he's still totally in control. Once he's shifted, though, he has a less certain hold on his passions, so caution is the watchword there. A clear understanding right up front, that's what's needed. Teasing or being coy is certainly out of the question, and for all that you hold dear, do NOT run and set off his instincts for the chase."

Kevin Richards, without a word, followed his host back to the house, needing that drink more than he could ever remember needing a drink in his entire life. 

He could feel those dark compelling eyes on him as they left the clearing, had to forceably resist turning back for one last look. Somehow he knew that would be dangerous in more ways than he could even imagine, with perhaps some of the danger coming from inside himself. He somehow knew that if he had turned to look, he would have seen a mixture of gentle amusement and wistful longing regret in that dark gaze, and that might have made him pause. He wasn't used to being on the receiving end of looks like that, from anyone, and it would perhaps have been an oddly tempting sensation. 

{"Looks like that are just too damned tempting! I wonder what would feel like, though, having someone, well, other than 'Uncle Lucas', of course, want you so badly? Perhaps that's why I get so annoyed with Caeide and Meghada; they both want, care so much, have so much to offer, and who do they waste it all on??? A pair of lightfingered Cockneys, each with one foot in jail and the other on a slippery banana peel!!"}

Of course, if he had been willing to OPEN his eyes a little more often, he would have seen that he was on the receiving end of plenty of those looks. Still, considering the source of those looks, he wouldn't have taken them seriously anyway. HE knew quite well Coura and Ciena only did such things to annoy him! (Sigh) Well, his uncles and his sister often did say that wilful blindness and stubbornness were two of his strongest character traits!

It was probably for the best, though, that he didn't turn around; his future was fated to be complicated enough, without adding Uncle Lucas into the equation.

Lupan led the way back to the house, well-satisfied at the way that had played out. 

It had been a gamble, of course, he knew; there was always a chance that Kevin might have been a little TOO intrigued by Lucas, and if the Far-See'ers were right, that would complicate things more than even the Clan was accustomed to. He had been a little surprised, himself, at the sincere level of interest he'd read in the older Panthera's eyes; he knew Lucas was well content with his own mates, all three of them, and hadn't thought the staid British officer would prove that tempting.

{"Hmmmm. Next time I should probably listen more closely when Felane warns me about making so many assumptions. Just as I hadn't expected Lucas to be truly interested, I also did not expect that slight hesitation on Kevin's part. Family gatherings in the future just might prove a little more stimulating than they usually are."}

He did a little cringing himself, picturing a cornered stag in the form of one Kevin Richards - on one side two of Lupan's daughters, snarling red wolves with possessive intent - on the other side, Uncle Lucas, tawny and black jaguar reaching out for the tempting toy he'd been denied earlier. {"Talk about the fur flying!!!"}

***  
Eyes Shining Through The Darkness -

Funny, even with what he knew about Lupan and his sons, it had never occurred to him that Felane and the daughters might have such secrets as well. Of course, he'd made sure never to ask about such things, and on the occasions when he got the feeling they, any of the family, were about to share more than he felt he wanted to know, he had been very quick to change the subject. Frankly, he thought the family had already 'over-shared', if you get my meaning.

He'd gotten quite astute as discerning those moments, sheerly out of self-defense. After all, there was a limit to what one man should have to come to grips with in any one lifetime, surely! 

(Eventually he and Craig Garrison would have some very heart-felt discussions on that topic, only to ruefully determine that - No, it would appear there were no such set limits, not when dealing with Clan O'Donnell!)

Sometimes, though, it's not a matter of what you feel you can come to grips with, are even willing to deal with. Sometimes it's a matter of what Fate dishes out for you, and there you are, desperately trying to cope without losing your mind. 

In this case, the coping came easier than he would have thought. Perhaps that was because he had already gone through so much as to make him quite unsusceptible to any more shocks. Later, in his own defense, he told himself that his nervous system, along with his mind, had simply shut down for awhile, and by the time those two vital parts had recovered sufficiently, it was simply too late to do anything about it. He had, once again, simply seen too much.

It was quite understandable, surely. Again, Craig Garrison would have understood, AND sympathized; it was a feeling the young American Lieutenant was becoming reluctantly accustomed to.

When it had gone wrong, that 'little walk in the park' job Kevin and his two companions had been sent on, when he'd ended up in the hands of the very expert men in the black uniforms, he'd dealt with the questioning, the pain, the sharp sense of failure, by countering all that with the knowledge that, whatever else, Ciena and Coura were well away by then. 

It would seem that no one knew he hadn't been alone. As long as he didn't let that slip, or at least delayed perhaps the inevitable for long enough, (since it was obvious that his questioners were VERY expert at the process of delivering pain with the goal of obtaining answers), the two O'Donnell women would have the chance of making the exit rendezvous, making it back home, having the opportunity of living the rest of their lives. No matter the pain he had already suffered, what he knew he could look forward to in the immediate future, at least he had that for comfort. 

Far better than it having been the other way around, surely. Having to face Felane and Lupan, explaining that he'd 'lost' their daughters; facing the others, explaining their sisters were no more, living with his failure to properly care for them - no, this was far, far better!

He took one more look around the small room where he lay, heavy door bolted on the outside, small window closed and shuttered from the outside, thinking it was a pitiful place to die, and let the pain take him away, let himself fade into the darkness that surrounded him.

He blinked his way back to full consciousness, the brush of cool fur against his bare arm and back drawing a moan when the contact burned against the bruises and weals and open cuts. Awoke to the sight of amber eyes shining through the darkness. Then, a wet nose was pushing at his neck, warm tongue lapping at his face, urgent whines demanding his attention. 

Then he felt sharp teeth gnawing at the ropes binding him, had felt the tightness start to give way when there was a sound at the door, the knob starting to turn.

The furry form slipped away, back into the shadows, and the tall man in uniform came through, laughing, closing the door behind him, assuring Richards that "it's time to continue. We shall enjoy ourselves some more, yes? And you will perhaps decide to talk to me? Perhaps now, perhaps later. Later might be even better; I do so hate to rush things, you see."

Richards felt the bile start to rise in his throat, but there was a sudden rush of movement, a gasp and a dull thud as a body hit the floor, and the coppery scent of blood filled the air.

The warm tongue brought him back to full realization, and, his eyes now able to see in the light of the lantern the other had brought with him, he looked into those amber eyes looking back at him with such anxious concern, such encouragement. Those far too familiar eyes. He was too busy staring into those eyes to take more than a moment's notice of the body laying across the floor, throat torn out, eyes staring in sheer horror.

Later, the wet nose nudged him once again, urging him to his feet, into the remains of the clothes he'd worn, nipping at his calves to keep him moving when his body wanted nothing more than to collapse. Forcing him out the small window, to fall to the ground on the outside, there to be chivied to his feet once more, and herded along like a wounded bull. It occurred to him that Coura was just as bossy in her present form as she was in the one he was more accustomed to seeing her wear.

Finally, a whispered voice from the shadows. "Well done, little sister! Were you followed? I took care of the others at the waystation; we can take one of the cars on our way out. There's an extra uniform for you to change into, Kevin. The one you have on seems to have been through the mill, what there is left of it."

And finally, blinking at the two young women, one dressed in trousers and shirt, calmly reloading a revolver, tucking away a long knife that she'd obviously put to good use, the second still half-nude, hurriedly donning her own set of clothes laying in a heap on the bare dirt of the cave. The blood still remaining on the latter's face, around her mouth, seemed right, somehow, oddly undisturbing to him, and he was a little surprised when the fully-clothed woman tsk'd tsk'd and, with a faint chuckle, wiped it away with a dampened handkerchief. 

"Remember what mother always says, little sister; mustn't forget to use your napkin!", getting a warm chuckle in return.

Somehow that didn't bother him either, surely proof he was going mad.

"Ciena, Coura." His tone was a little flat even to his own ears, his eyes still dazed. "How did you find me?" He knew the Germans had brought him a goodly distance from where he'd been captured.

The grins were almost identical. Well, the young women were, anymore, even accounting for the difference in their age. He could always tell them apart, somehow, but could also see how most others had such difficulty.

"Just sniffed you out, Kevin. The parents taught us some very good tracking skills, you know, and we both have exceedingly good noses."

He probably should have said something intelligent, asked more questions, but for right then, he just couldn't think of anything constructive to say, to ask, so contented himself with a slow nod. 

"Yes, I suppose they did, and I suppose you do."

Well, what else WAS there to say, after all?

So, perhaps he could learn to cope with a little more; after all, it didn't look like Fate intended to give him much choice.

Still, surely that was the end to it, he'd thought as he pulled himself into the car Ciena had procured for them. He and his nervous system could finally relax. He now knew it all, and once he became used to this new influx of information, he could let himself relax.

***  
"Some Things You Just Cannot Unsee!" -

Somehow, relaxing just wasn't as easy as he'd anticipated. Oh, he'd become accustomed to the sisters going furry on occasion, though it was something not usually discussed, and something he had the devil of a time working around in his reports. He was getting an even deeper appreciation of Craig Garrison and his 'creative writing' skills.

But it seems Fate wasn't quite finished with him. And it really didn't seem fair, in his estimation. He'd been a very good sport about everything else, after all. You'd think he could catch a break.

Still, in the final months of the war, when an urgent call by Caeide for some 'expert advice' on a very troubling situation took them to Haven, Kevin got an eyeful. Oh, not on purpose. It was just that there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Well, for the most part, anyway. Oh, alright, so he could have just closed the shutters, but . . .

The 'troubling situation' had been resolved, though taking Garrison and his men, along with Ciena's able assistance. Then, that last day and night before they had to return to London, everyone was in a decidedly good frame of mind, and things got relaxed. Very, very relaxed. 

First there was the openly sensuous teasing interaction between Garrison and Meghada and Goniff, enough Kevin wasn't quite sure where he should be looking. While Caeide, their hostess, and Ciena and Garrison's other men seemed to either be amused or just casually unconcerned by the situation, HE was seriously considering asking if Caeide had a set of blinders available! And those odd side glances being cast back and forth between Chief and Casino were a little disturbing as well; Kevin had resolutely determined not to even try to figure out what THOSE might mean!

That had all been bad enough.

Then, he'd awakened at midnight to an odd creening cry on the wind and the sound of voices, had gone to the window and threw open the shutters to see what had to be an illusion, a figment of his overactive imagination. (Not that he had ever been accused of having such a thing, but still. . .!)

There he was, Goniff - perched between the shoulders of a sleek multi-colored, metallic-scaled dragon, swooping across the sky, silhouetted against the moon, grinning like a lunatic, his head thrown back in delight. A laughing Garrison, hands on hips, shaking his head in amusement, was watching from below. 

That was more than enough, far too much, actually.

Then, the landing, the rapid transforming of the brilliantly-colored dragon into a much more familiar form and face, and the passion enacted on the sweet grass of the meadow, a passion shared by all three - that was the absolute capper. 

Well, he had thought it so, until with a jubilant, joyous trill, Meghada had shifted back and thrown herself upward, to make mad whirls of color and pattern as she danced through the sky. Below, still intertwined, the two men lay back and watched her, laughing at the sight. Slowly she settled down onto the meadow, still in dragon form, curling herself around them ever so carefully, and they rested their heads against her, and together they slept.

He had slowly, carefully closed the shutters, poured himself a triple shot of whiskey and crawled back into bed. He knew he would never forget that scene, any of it. "Some things you just cannot unsee, no matter HOW hard you try," he muttered in sheer frustration.

Breakfast was a trifle stilted, or so it seemed to Kevin Richards. Well, HE couldn't think of anything to say, certainly, and the looks that were passed back and forth between Garrison, his blasted pickpocket and Meghada were just far too heated for the breakfast table, at least in Kevin's opinion. 

He'd started to caustically inquire whether he should move the dishes out of their way, to give them more room for expression, then hesitated. {"They just might take me up on the notion, and what on earth would I do then?!"} he thought with some frustration.

The three disappeared back up the stairs, supposedly to look through the library, though the Major rather thought they might have a different objective in mind, from those sensuous, promising smiles being shared, and the quick sly caresses being given.

He gave a disapproving look at Ciena, who was looking up at him through half-lowered lashes, a grin obviously just aching to break out, and he'd hummph'd. While he had NO intention of discussing that apres-flight activity in the meadow, {"Dear Heavens, NO!"}, still, he felt he was due SOME explanation!

"Codename - 'The Dragon'. Somehow no one ever mentioned just how truly descriptive her nickname truly was. And just why was that, if I might ask?"

The two sisters remaining at the table laughed with glee at the stiff, outraged expression on his face, in his voice. 

"Oh, Kevin. Some things, you just need to experience for yourself. No amount of words could really do it justice, you know."

Helping himself to another cup of coffee, he considered that response. Well, that was true enough, he supposed. True about that mad flight, as well as the interlude in the meadow that followed. He couldn't have come up with the right words, even now, even if someone asked. Thankfully, no one asked.

And, once again, he realized there really wasn't anything to say. Some things just WERE. He was learning to accept that. 

What that meant for his sanity, he really preferred not to consider. Just as he chose not to wonder what Fate might have in store for him now. But he did have the very uncomfortable feeling that She just wasn't finished with him, not quite yet. Though what on earth She had left to offer, he just couldn't imagine!!


End file.
